


Paging Dr. Ellis

by LadyDorian



Category: 60 Parsecs!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, M/M, Medical Kink, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21573760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDorian/pseuds/LadyDorian
Summary: First, do no harm. Second, fuck no patients. Or something of the sort.
Relationships: Emmet Ellis/Baby Bronco
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Paging Dr. Ellis

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Olga-Voc, my dear friend in Brommet.

_Patient name: Bronco, Baby  
_ _Sex: Male_  
_Age: 27 years  
_ _Height and weight:_

With an exasperated sigh, Dr. Emmet Ellis flips to the next page of his patient's chart, barely able to contain his boredom at having to perform yet another routine physical. His tenth of the day, though he might have lost count after the old Asian woman and the beer-bellied man with the eyepatch who kept shooting off finger-guns every time Emmet had tried to explain how dangerously high his cholesterol levels were.

_"Ah, well, nothing a little tomato soup can't fix,"_ he'd said as he checked off the _PASS_ box on Mr. Thomson's Astrocitizen application. Because the program was desperate for fresh meat, and as long as the organization was paying Emmet well enough to cover his student loans, he'd let a man with three heads and eight legs breeze through, no questions asked. 

Now _that_ might liven things up a bit. But he highly doubts Mr. Bronco is anything more than the standard human subject, so he buckles down for disappointment and wearily punches in the exam room's access code. The pneumatic doors open with a _whoosh_ and Emmet strides in, staring down at his clipboard as he recites, "Alright, Mr. Bronco. My name is Dr. Ellis and I'm going to—"

The words scatter from his brain the instant he looks up.

Sitting on his exam table, with his head bowed sheepishly and his hands folded atop his lap, is a hulking mammoth of a man: blue eyes, ginger hair and muscles so enormous the green t-shirt he's wearing looks about one stitch away from bursting at the seams. When he notices Emmet standing there, gawking like a fool, he raises his head and says, "H-Hi, Doc—Dr. Ellis. I'm Baby."

_That you are certainly not,_ Emmet thinks. _Christ,_ why couldn't the organization provide photos along with their applicants' files? At least then he might know what he's getting himself into before he stumbles through the door and immediately finds his mouth watering at the sight of his (ridiculously) attractive patient. _Very professional, Emmet._

He swallows to shake the flavor of lust from his taste buds, then adjusts his glasses before burying his eyes Baby's chart. "Yes, Mr. Bronco—"

"Um...you can just call me Baby."

"OK, _Baby,"_ Emmet coughs, "I'm going to ask you a few questions to determine your eligibility for the program. I see here in your file that you were a football player?"

"Y-Yeah," Baby replies in a deep, yet childishly hesitant voice. "When I was in school. I, um—I didn't do so good with math and readin' and stuff, but I can tackle a guy no problem. That's not—that's not gonna get me kicked out, is it?"

_Don't look up, don't look up._ But commands are much easier to follow when one is thinking with their brain rather than _other_ parts of their anatomy. So, like an idiot, Emmet looks up. And immediately regrets it.

He hadn't noticed how blue Baby's eyes were until now. Or how his boyish cheeks gleam under the lights, and his bottom lip sticks out a bit, like it were waiting for someone to sink their teeth into it. And his bright copper curls— _fuck,_ who wouldn't want to run their fingers through them? They look so soft, even when sculpted into place with styling gel. 

He tries to get a hold of himself, remembers the oath he'd taken: _First, do no harm. Second, fuck no patients._ Or something of the sort. 

"Um...Doc?"

"Oh, uh—Y-Yeah, you're fine," he bungles, hoping that, whatever the question had been, he's gotten the right answer.

From the shy smile that crosses Baby's face, Emmet assumes he's in the clear. _"Phew,_ that's good. You got no idea how bad I need this to work. I, uh, got nowhere else to go. And I'm not smart like all the other apple—applicants."

"Well, you'd be surprised who they're letting in these days," Emmet says, taking his pen and automatically putting a check in the _PASS_ box. Though he figures he should at least ask the guy a few more questions before he rushes him through the standard vitals and bloodwork, kicks him out the door and returns to his own quarters for a long, private self-examination. "So tell me, Baby, what makes you want to become an Astrocitizen?"

Simple as it is, Baby appears to be flummoxed by the question. He scratches his head, bites his bottom lip. "Um—I guess—I just like rocketships and stuff."

_Wow. Maybe this guy is a little on the dim side._ "OK, um...have you received any higher education?"

Baby arches his bushy unibrow. "What's that?"

"College. Did you go to college?"

"Oh. No."

"What about military service?"

"Nope."

"What was your last job?"

"Didn't have one."

"What about your hobbies?"

"I like liftin' weights."

_Great._ This guy's so accomplished Emmet doesn't need to take notes. He just scrawls a _"Suitable candidate"_ in Baby's file and places his pen back in the clipboard.

_Only one thing left to do._

"Alright, Baby, so far so good. I'm just going to take your vitals and draw some blood now."

"So...I passed, then?" Baby asks. "I get to go to outer space?"

"Well, not yet, but—"

But apparently Baby hadn't heard him. Or cared to. "That's amazin!" He gushes. "I never passed nothin' in my life, Doc. I really owe ya one." 

And then he smiles at Emmet, sweet and innocent, and despite his oath and his morals and his professional integrity, Emmet feels something crawl out of the shadows inside him, brandishing a sinister grin.

"Now, I didn't say you passed just yet," he tells Baby, holding up his hand as if to solemnly swear that's he's up to no good. "You still have to make it through the physical exam."

"Sure, no problem," Baby says. "You want me to do push-ups or—"

"I need you to undress. Completely."

That naive smile slips away faster than Emmet can blink. "You—You want me to get naked?"

"It's all part of the exam," Emmet explains with a (hopefully) reassuring smile. "It'll take five minutes tops, then I can clear you for enrollment." 

"B-But—" Baby's creamy cheeks take on a pinkish hue. 

"Look, Baby," he says, setting his clipboard on the counter by the sink before pulling a pair of latex gloves from his lab coat pocket. "I know it may seem uncomfortable—" _Snap._ "—but every Astrocitizen has to undergo the physical portion of the exam—" _Snap_. "—before they can enter the program."

With one final tug to each of his gloves, he turns and fixes Baby with a piercing stare. "You _do_ want to get into the program, don't you?"

"Y-Yeah. _Yeah."_ His voice cracks a little as he eyes Emmet's gloved hands. "I'd do anythin'."

"Good. Then undress for me and we'll have you out of here in no time."

"O-OK." And with that, Baby slides off the table and onto his feet.

_No way. No fucking way._ Never in Emmet's life has a plan come together so smoothly, and he'd once managed to convince the organization to hire him on a whim, despite his abysmal job history. So what if his skin tone had kept him from being offered a position at even the sleaziest of hospitals? They were all racists anyway. And besides, who needs a degree in neuroscience when he's got a gorgeous man about to strip nude in front of him, ready and willing to—

"Um, Doc?"

Shaken, Emmet blinks the stars from his eyes and notices Baby standing there with his hands on his belt, fingers stalled just short of opening the buckle. "You—you s'posed to give me a gown or somethin'?"

"Sorry, but I don't have one," he quickly lies. "I'll lock the door, though, if that will help."

It's not an offer for Baby so much as it's a means to cover his own ass, but either way they both end up winning. "Yeah, I—I guess that's OK."

_Perfect._ With a victorious smirk, Emmet walks to the door and keys in the manual override. 

Now, neither of them should have any reason to worry.

His heart is already thumping words of encouragement as he listens to the metallic _clink_ of Baby undoing his belt buckle: _Watch him watch him turn around look._ Not wanting to argue with it, he eagerly obeys, only to have Baby cry out:

"W-Wait, Doc!"

Every muscle in Emmet's body tenses in fear. "What's wrong?" _Come on come on don't wise up now._

"It's just—" Baby looks away. "Could—Could ya turn around again? Just until I got my clothes off?"

_Oh, thank fuck._ Emmet swallows the lump in his throat and flashes a smile so warm he can feel beads of sweat start to roll down his neck. "Of course. Just let me know once you're ready." And, reluctantly, he turns to face the door.

It takes little time for the tempting rustle of clothing to hit his ears, even less for it to kick his imagination into overdrive, thoughts of rippling muscles and forests of strawberry-blonde pubes humping his brain up against the walls of his skull until it turns to a horny mush. 

_Patience, patience._

But patience can fuck itself eight ways to Sunday, especially when he's got a polished metal door in front of him and a prescription strong enough to see the hairs on a spider's legs. 

Though, to be honest, it's Baby's legs he's more concerned with at the moment, slim and spindly and looking like they might break if he were to move his massive torso in just the wrong direction. _Guess no one ever told him not to skip leg day._

"Hey...Doc?"

Emmet snaps his eyes forward. "Yeah?"

"You—You sure I can't just keep my undies on?"

_About as sure as the atomic number of Beryllium is 4._ "Sorry, Baby, but I'll need you fully undressed in order to properly conduct my examination." And to properly fill his Spank Bank, old issues of the _Sears_ men's catalogue no longer up to snuff.

"O-OK, then," Baby says. And before Emmet can shift his eyes back to the slightly fuzzy reflection in the door, he announces, "All ready."

_Finally._

Taking a moment to wipe the smug smirk off his face, Emmet slowly turns around, and is met with the most exquisite sight of Baby stripped bare and shivering by the exam table, hands strategically placed over his crotch as if knowing that would be the first place to tempt Emmet's lecherous gaze.

_Smart boy._ But Emmet will have the upper hand soon enough.

As cool as can be, he saunters over to where Baby is standing and stops directly in front of him, eyes trained on his blushing cheeks. "Alright, let's begin."

With that, he sets his eager hands to work.

Long, lithe fingers gently lift Baby's jaw and press into the skin beneath it—a good way to check for swollen lymph nodes; a better way to admire how his blue eyes shimmer like finely-cut gemstones under the lights. He continues palpating down his neck, along his clavicle, breathing little _"Hmm"_ s every few seconds to give the illusion that he's conducting a legitimate medical examination and not just getting off on fondling his patient like a perverted, dime-store quack.

Because he's not. Getting off, that is. Not yet at least. Not when there's still so much of Baby's body to explore.

"Looking good…" He murmurs, fingers tingling from the warmth of Baby's skin. "Now, if you could raise your arms to your sides, please."

Baby trembles at the order, but obeys nonetheless.

_Excellent_. All Emmet has to do is refrain from looking downwards for a— _Whoops,_ he just did. And there, he did it again. Though neither glance had been long enough to arouse suspicion, they'd certainly aroused Emmet's cock quite a bit, the brief snippets of orange curls and pink flesh he'd glimpsed more than enough to have it straining at the fly of his pants.

He coughs, as if to remind it of the plan. If he even has one. "I—ah—I'm going to gauge your muscle mass."

Now _that_ should be something that Baby can comprehend. Even if Emmet has no idea what he's doing when he lays his hands on his shoulders and begins massaging away.

_What—how—_ Could muscles get this big? The answer is obviously _Yes,_ judging by what Emmet feels when he slides his palms to Baby's biceps and foolishly tries to curl his fingers around them. 

_Shit, he wasn't kidding when he said he liked to work out._

As intimidating (and arousing) as it is, Emmet manages to keep his composure as he works his way to Baby's hairy forearms. The same can't be said for Baby, though; by the time Emmet reaches his wrists and coaxes his arms back to his sides, he's shaking like a leaf about to fall from a branch. 

He gives Baby's shoulders a long, soothing rub as he waits for him to relax somewhat. Because he's sure that what he's about to say next will send his pulse rocketing straight to the moon. "How often do you orgasm?"

Baby's eyes widen in abject horror, as if someone had just shown him a pinup calendar compiled exclusively of photos of his mother. "Wh-What? Why?"

"It's just—you seem tense," Emmet explains. "You can't be expected to operate at peak performance if you're stiff as a board." No offense to his cock.

"Well—you _are_ kinda lookin' at me butt naked, Doc."

_Touché._

"An-And touchin' me, too."

_No shit, really?_ And here Emmet thought he'd dreamed it all up. "If the exam is making you uncomfortable, I can always stop and hand you your release papers—"

"N-No—I—I wanna do this," he stutters. "Just tell me what I gotta do next and I'll—"

"I need to listen to your heartbeat, if that's alright."

All the anxiety seems to melt from Baby's face. "Yeah, sure. That's OK." But he tenses up again the moment Emmet begins to lower his head to his chest. "What—What are you doin'?"

"Listening to your heartbeat." As if that should be obvious.

"But—" Baby points to the stethoscope around his neck. "What about usin' that thingy?"

"It's broken," Emmet says, and casually strips it off before tossing it to the floor with a loud clatter. "My ears are fine, though."

The look Baby gives him reeks of skepticism, but he rolls his shoulders back and puffs his chest out nonetheless. "OK. Go ahead, Doc."

It takes all of Emmet's willpower not to dive in and simply bury his face between those enormous pecs.

_You're a professional,_ he reminds himself, as he braces his hands on Baby's ribs and gently presses his ear to his heart. _It's perfectly fine if you close your eyes and nuzzle your cheek lovingly against his chest hair. You're just being thorough, is all. And if you happen to sigh, and some of that hair gets into your mouth, and you end up sucking the taste of him from it—_

He's so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he almost doesn't hear Baby's muffled question: "So...does it sound good, Doc?"

"Oh. _Oh."_ The soft thump of Baby's heart brings him back to where he'd started. "It's—I need to listen for another minute." His palms are sweating in his gloves now, full of hope and lies and a little bit of reckless abandon. Sliding one upwards over Baby's chest, his fingers graze the unsuspecting edge of a nipple, and instantly he hears Baby's heart beat faster.

_Oh. That got a reaction._

Emmet tries brushing it again. And again. Up. Down. Now in circles. Not stopping until the bud grows to a stiff peak, and Baby's heart hammers incessantly against his ear, almost as loud and enticing as his whimpers.

_"Mmm..._ Doc…is it good?"

_Oh, it's good. It's better than good._ And it's a goddamn shame Emmet can't turn his head and suckle one between his lips, claim he needs to check the salt levels in his sweat, or some shit like that. 

Leaving Baby's nipple with a parting flick, he draws back and stands up straight. "Yes, your heart sounds exceptionally healthy. Whatever you're doing, keep up the good work."

"Thanks?" Baby says with a blush. "Am I—Am I done now?" He squirms hesitantly, stealing small glances down at himself. It doesn't take much for Emmet to see why he's so anxious all of a sudden.

Way down below, past those washboard abs and that bushy tuft of orange fur, Baby's cock stands tall and proud, its pink tip glistening with a gorgeous glob of precome.

He hopes Baby doesn't notice him licking his lips.

"You're uncircumcised."

Baby's cock bobs slightly, as if nodding in response to Emmet's statement. "Y-Yeah. Um, is that OK?"

_OK? Fuck,_ it's like Emmet has hit the jackpot. Putting on his most professional look, he turns to Baby and asks, "And are you cleaning your foreskin thoroughly?"

If Baby's face were to grow any redder, Emmet might have to pack it into a can and call it tomato soup. "I—Y-Yeah?"

"Good," he says. Then, just as Baby breathes a small sigh of relief: "I should probably check it anyway."

"What? Y-You wanna— _check_ it?"

"Well of course," Emmet scoffs. "You wouldn't believe how many cases of phimosis I see each year."

"H-How many?" 

_Shit._ "E-Enough to know how dangerous it can be. So if you want to live long enough to colonize the new world, you should definitely let me take a look."

"Y-You're just—just gonna look, right?" Asks Baby, hands shying towards his crotch again.

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep you healthy," Emmet replies, and places a clammy palm on his shoulder for reassurance.

A full semester's worth of classes on Bedside Manner couldn't have produced more favorable results. With a timid look, Baby lowers his hands and says, "O-OK. I trust ya, Doc." 

_I sure as hell wouldn't,_ Emmet thinks slyly. But he's not the one standing naked and vulnerable, with his cock dripping delectable threads of precome onto the linoleum floor.

He resists licking his lips again, despite wanting nothing more than to drop to his knees and run his tongue all over Baby's fleshy collar until he begs Emmet to let him come.

He does the former, forgets the latter. Takes a moment to bask in the sight of Baby's cock as its thick veins throb mere inches from his face. Then, very slowly, he raises his hand and brushes the tips of his fingers over that paper-thin sheath of skin.

Baby's reaction is purely decadent.

His cock jerks at the touch, his breath hitches. Delighted, Emmet looks up and sees him watching like a hawk fresh from an orgy—pupils blown, mouth agape as if he'd just received the best pleasure of his life. And Emmet has barely gotten started.

"Everything alright?" Emmet asks in a sweet yet devious tone.

Baby blinks twice, then sucks a shallow breath through his lips. "Uh-huh."

"Please don't hesitate to inform me if you feel even the slightest bit of discomfort." And, gaze still locked with Baby's, he curls his fingers around his cock and gives a firm, languid stroke.

This time Baby doesn't gasp but flat-out _moans,_ long and low with his eyes screwed shut and his head thrown back in ecstasy.

_Yes, that's it._ Emmet has always found sex to be more enjoyable when accompanied by the sweet sound of music.

He strokes Baby's cock again, tugging his foreskin over the head before gently pulling it back to admire how pink and slick the tip has become. It's rare that Emmet gets to play with something so delicately beautiful as this, and as he stretches it up and down and up again, he wishes he hadn't been so quick to pull on a pair of gloves before they started. Imagine what it would feel like to relish in that silken flesh with his bare hands.

_Oh well,_ he thinks, swiping the pad of his thumb over Baby's sopping-wet slit, _there are still better things to look forward to._

Like Baby's moans, growing louder by the second. The way he rocks his hips shyly and curls his trembling fingers as if longing to thread them through Emmet's hair and pull his mouth closer, so he can feel how warm and luscious it is inside.

But, as much as he'd love to gargle down a sperm sample, Emmet has other plans at the moment.

He draws his hand back—to a pitiful groan from Baby—and slowly rises. "Well, everything here appears to be in working order. I'd say you're in tip-top shape, Baby."

The pained look on Baby's face says otherwise. "G-Good. Do I—" he huffs, "—pass now?"

"Not _quite_ yet," Emmet says, taking note of the way Baby seems to whimper under his breath. "There are a few more tests I'd like to run." _A reflex test, maybe? Buccal swabbing? Though that sperm sample is sounding pretty good right about now._ "Please bend and touch your toes," he quickly decides. "I'd like to check the curvature of your spine."

And without further _adieu,_ he strolls around to Baby's backside, licking the precome from his gloves as he goes.

The view from this angle is every bit as titillating as the front, even without Baby bending over so that his most— _desirable? delicious?_ — _appealing_ asset is on display. His cheeks are solid boulders, his sac taut and ruddy where it rests sandwiched between his thighs. Emmet's cock throbs longingly at the sight, hungry eyes seeking and immediately finding that rosy little ring nestled in the depths of his crease, just waiting to be devoured.

He's never felt his stomach growl so hard.

He starts innocently enough by dragging his fingers over Baby's back, the latex clinging and pulling, making the skin beneath prickle beautifully. What Emmet wouldn't give to feel those tiny bristles brush against his tongue—licking, teasing, running the very point of it along the curve of Baby's spine, one bump after another.

But he can't—or, he _shouldn't._ So he compromises by stroking each vertebra with his thumbs instead, like a proper doctor would. But Emmet can't really call himself a _proper_ doctor—especially after all he's done so far—so instead of ending his examination and declaring Baby's spine straight as an arrow, he reaches his tailbone and keeps going, carefully slipping both thumbs inside his crack before pausing to gauge Baby's reaction. Baby gives a soft whimper, but makes no further complaint. At least, not until Emmet grasps his cheeks firmly and pries him wide open.

_"Ah!"_ He jolts forward, tumbling to his hands and knees with a dull _thwap._

"Shit! I'm sorry!" Emmet blurts out as he scrambles over to help him up. "You're not hurt, are you?

"I-It's OK, I'm—" Baby teeters for a moment, managing to catch his balance before Emmet can go crashing to the floor along with him. When he glances down and catches his stiff cock brushing Emmet's lab coat, he blushes and swiftly takes a step backwards. "I'm—good."

"Well that's a relief." Teasing the poor guy is one thing, but Emmet doesn't need ten sutures and a cranial fracture on his libido's conscience. "Do you think you're able to continue?"

Baby stops dusting his knees off and stares at Emmet, desperation pooling in the corners of his eyes. "We're—We're not done yet?"

_Oh no, Big Fella, but don't you worry; I saved the best for last._

He pats Baby on the arm and shows him his kindest (and least suspicious) smile. "Almost. I just want to examine your prostate first. Then, you'll be free to go." He gestures to the exam table. "Now bend over the table and spread your legs. I'll be back in a moment."

"W-Will it hurt?" He hears Baby whimper as he walks towards the supply cabinets.

"Not if you relax." _Though a good basting with lube doesn't hurt either_. And fortunately Emmet is well-versed in how to use it. 

There's a brand new tube of medical grade lubricant on the top shelf in the right-hand cabinet, its red label smiling cheerfully, almost as if it had known long before Emmet where it was going to end up that night. Slipping it into his pocket, he turns to find Baby bent over as instructed, with his legs spread just wide enough for Emmet's imagination to picture what it would be like to find himself wedged between them.

For once, he doesn't try to hide his smirk. Not as if Baby can see it anyway. Though he does wonder if he can hear him palming himself through his clothing, or pick up on the quiet chuckle he gives when he looks down and notices a tiny damp spot on his lab coat, from where Baby's cock had accidentally grazed it.

_That_ should make a good snack for later, when he's sitting in bed with his dick in his hand and the memory of Baby's gorgeous body splayed all over the walls of his brain, like the countless medical posters he passes every day. 

For now, he takes a calming breath, and slowly steps closer.

A beautiful portrait seems to paint itself on Baby's skin—a subtle blush here, a droplet of sweat there. Emmet follows one as it trickles down the inside of his thigh, to where his balls hang lonely and untouched. _Shit,_ he could kick himself for forgetting to examine them as well, having Baby turn his head and cough for a good ten minutes or so, or until Emmet has satisfied his curiosity. And though he can't turn back the clock without it seeming too questionable, he tries to recoup his loss by cupping them in his palm and giving a quick fondle—to take measurements for Baby's Astrocitizen suit, were he to ask about it.

He won't, though; he's too busy rubbing his lips against the exam table in an attempt to stifle his soft moans. 

Emmet will make sure _that_ doesn't last. 

He hums a merry tune as he retrieves the lube from his pocket and unscrews the lid, coating his index and middle fingers before rubbing them with his thumb to warm the liquid up. He's not a monster, after all. Though he does find himself eagerly licking his teeth as he grasps Baby's cheek in one hand and carefully peels it back.

He gasps, and Baby moans. And together the two tremble awestruck at the Pandora's Box they've opened.

Soft and pink and framed by a ring of wispy curls, Baby's pucker twitches in the cool air, its delicious musk wafting like steam into Emmet's nostrils. Each wrinkle is creased with a splash of lavender, and his tightly-coiled center seems to pulse so eagerly Emmet can almost hear it screaming for him to throw caution to the wind and just _taste him already. Run your tongue over his taint, suck on his rim, lick the sweat from his hairs until you're practically choking on it._

_Take him. It's what you've wanted from the very start._

Emmet would be lying if he said he hadn't considered it. But he knows that, had he simply given in and used his authority to fuck Baby senseless, he never would have been able to forgive himself. What he's doing now is reprehensible enough, but at least Baby might still walk away with a shred of his dignity intact.

And if he were to ask Emmet to stop, then Emmet would do so in a heartbeat. He's not a monster, after all. Or so he'd like to believe.

He begins to smear the lube all over Baby's hole, coating him until each crease glistens as if it were covered in his spit. Wishful thinking, though Emmet will settle for this.

"Now, this might feel a little uncomfortable at first," he tells Baby as he gently presses the tip of his finger against the center. "But I promise it will get better soon." 

Baby squirms at the sensation. "Ah—Doc—are you gonna—"

Before he has a chance to finish, his rim gives way and Emmet slides in up to the knuckle.

_"Ah!"_ His voice explodes in a sudden gasp, muscles clenching as if meaning to swallow Emmet whole. And, _fuck,_ maybe Emmet should let him. Test his limits, see how loud he can moan, how hard he can come. How desperately he can beg for it.

Emmet grins and slowly begins to move his finger.

He knows exactly where Baby's little button is, has performed so many exams in his tenure here that he could find a prostate gland in his sleep. But he's never given one as tantalizing as this, and despite how badly he wants to watch Baby turn to putty in his hands, he's just as eager to drag things out as long as he can, until his wrists ache and his fingers become so wrinkled they never recover.

He pulls back and then thrusts in again, harder, sharper, taking care to miss his mark each time. By now, Baby is practically moaning with every breath, his thighs shaking, fists tangled in the paper slip that covers the exam table. And Emmet just can't help himself.

"You're doing great, Baby," he says, pushing in as deep as he can. "Keep it up."

Baby mumbles something unintelligible and shamelessly shoves back. And that's when Emmet makes his move.

Angling his finger _just right,_ he curls the tip and slams head-on into Baby's sweet spot.

A strangled cry cuts the air, a sudden clench of muscle, and Baby is arching off the exam table, his perfectly-sculpted body struggling to hold itself up under Emmet's expert ministrations.

_"Doc...Doc…"_ He sings beautifully, but it's not enough. Emmet won't be satisfied until he has a full orchestra at his fingertips.

Alternating light strokes with harder presses, he continues to tease Baby's button, until Baby collapses like dead weight atop the table, unable to do more than moan and shudder and shift his hips back in a feeble attempt to take in more of him. 

_He must be close by now,_ Emmet thinks with a smirk, as he draws his finger out and tickles Baby's rim for a moment before slipping two in at once. The sudden stretch makes Baby groan and tighten, but soon enough Emmet is rubbing his prostate again, giving him all he needs and then some.

_And here you thought you were coming in for a simple check-up. Sweet, innocent Baby. All the things I could do to you._

He watches a bead of sweat roll down the small of Baby's back and, without thinking, quickly sweeps it up with a finger and sucks it into his mouth.

Moans gradually turn to words again, dripping in puddles from Baby's lips. _"Mmm..._ Doc—please…"

"You like that, don't you, Baby?" Emmet drawls, draping himself over Baby's back so that his breath grazes his ear. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

_"Mmph…"_ Is all Baby can seem to muster.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"N-No— _No."_ Baby clenches around his fingers for emphasis. "I-I-I want—"

"You want another finger in you? Because I'd be happy to—"

"No— _ah!_ —not that."

Another thrust, another press. Lube squelching. "Want me to make you come, then?"

"Y-Yeah—I mean—not yet. Doc, _please_ —"

"Please _what?"_

Baby squirms against Emmet's chest, swallows hard, and finally whimpers, "I-I-I want you t-to _fuck_ me, Doc."

_Wait, what?_

Emmet shoves back abruptly, fingers popping out of Baby's hole in shock. "You—You really want that?"

_"Mmh-hmm…"_ Baby moves his head in the approximation of a nod. "I—I wanna feel your dick in me. I wanna come while you're fuckin' me. I been thinkin' about it ever since I saw ya."

Emmet isn't sure if the lump in his throat is shame or disbelief, but either way he feels dangerously close to choking on it.

_You mean all this time I could have—_ we _could have—maybe even_ twice?

But _no,_ he'd been too busy cock-blocking himself in the name of professionalism.

_Well, fuck that now._

"Don't move," he commands, in a voice too stern for his blushing face. Then, spinning on his heels, he jogs over to where the prophylactics are stored and snatches an extra large condom from the box on the shelf.

_Should've taken that third finger when I offered,_ he thinks, as he hurries back with one corner of the wrapper clenched between his teeth—an animal ready to pounce, tearing at his belt buckle like he hasn't fucked in months. Because he _hasn't_. And Baby looks so scrumptious waiting there for him—with his ass open and willing and soaked to the depths with lube—that Emmet can hardly contain his excitement.

Once that pesky buckle has been dealt with, it only takes a frenzied moment for him to shove his pants down, roll the condom on and slick himself up, and then he's gripping Baby's waist and pushing inside, slow and steady, to allow his groaning patient a chance to get used to his impressive size.

By the time Baby's cheeks tickle his pubes, and their balls brush against one another, Emmet is so overcome with pleasure, his lungs feel as if they might gasp their way right out of his body.

"Oh. Oh, _fuck…"_

Every inch is soft as velvet around his length, hot and wet and unimaginably decadent. For a minute he simply rocks his hips at a snail's pace, enjoying the sight of Baby's ginger-haired pucker swallowing and spitting him out again. Listening to his moans, reveling in the way his walls clench and flutter around him.

"You feel _so_ good, Baby," he groans. "Nice and tight. I can't believe you would keep this sweet little hole a secret from me."

He hooks his thumb onto Baby's rim and _pulls,_ earning him a sharp gasp and a delightful glimpse of those pretty pink insides.

_"Fuck,_ I wish I could have seen you sooner. I would have fingered you for hours, tongue-fucked you until you were so wet you dripped like a cunt. I'd have taken a speculum and spread your ass open so wide I could have fit _both_ hands inside you. I bet you would have liked that."

_"Ahhhh—Em—Doc—"_ Shaking, Baby climbs onto his elbows and attempts to turn around, but Emmet grabs him by the nape of his neck and shoves him back to the table.

"I should fail you, you know—" He gasps, pounding faster as he continues to pin Baby down. "Make you come back every week for a follow up. So I can—I can bend you over and fuck you as much as I want. That's what you came here for, isn't it? To end up on my exam table with your ass stuffed full of cock? Right?"

A particularly brutal thrust knocks the answer from Baby's throat.

"I—I wanted ya so bad, Doc—I woulda done anythin'." 

_"Anything?"_ Emmet coughs out a breathless laugh. "So taking your clothes off and popping an erection in the middle of my exam wasn't enough?"

"D-Doc—"

"Letting me touch you, have my way with you—" He slams his hips forward. "You would have choked on my dick if I asked, wouldn't you?"

Baby gurgles a wordless reply. And Emmet only fucks him harder.

"I want to hear it. Tell me." 

"I-I—"

_"Answer me, Baby."_

_"Please,_ Doc—" Baby whimpers. "Please fuck me. Please come inside me. Let me suck your dick afterwards. Anythin' you want, I wanna do it to ya. Just please don't stop. Don't—"

In one sharp motion Emmet digs his nails into Baby's flesh and pulls his cock free, everything happening so fast, Baby barely has the time to clench in reaction. 

_"Doc_ — _"_

"Turn around and get up on the table," Emmet all but growls. "I want to see your face when I make you come."

The sound of Baby's cries still ringing in his ears, he steps back and watches him try to pull himself onto the exam table, though his legs shake like twigs, and his muscular arms struggle to hold his own weight. Emmet smacks his ass for encouragement.

"Hurry up!"

_That_ seems to light a fire under his feet. 

Clambering up as fast as he can, Baby rolls over with a groan and braces his arms behind him, legs lifted into the air as he waits for Emmet's appraisal. 

"Fuck, Baby…" Emmet whistles, ogling Baby's body from his mussed hair and beet-red cheeks down to his slippery cock, his balls glistening with perspiration. "You're a mess."

Baby blushes deeper, and shyly spreads his legs as wide as he can. "Is this good?" 

_Oh, it's perfect,_ Emmet thinks, watching yet another glob of precome trickle down the head of Baby's cock. _It couldn't be more_ —

Just then, a devious thought enters his mind.

_"Mmm..._ You're so wet for me," he purrs, licking his lips seductively as he slides his palms up the backs of Baby's thighs. "Maybe I'll have you clean the table off with your tongue once we're finished here. You look so delicious, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

Baby shivers at the touch, eyes trembling, though he doesn't dare look away. Not even when Emmet leans closer and fixes him with a predatory grin.

"I think I'll try some right now."

Then, he bows his head and sweeps the flat of his tongue over Baby's leaking slit.

_"Emmet—"_

But Baby doesn't get the chance to breathe another breath before Emmet pounces, one hand fisted in his curls as he yanks him in for a rough kiss. Their lips part instantly, their tongues melt together into one sweet, beautiful mess _—_ without a word to tell them what to think, how to feel, who they should be when they're alone like this. Because all Emmet wants, all he knows, all he _cares_ about is him _—_ the taste of his mouth, the warmth of his skin, the sound of his voice billowing with every gasp:

_"Emmet...love you…"_

"I love you, too, Baby," he whispers, and, reaching between them, presses the tip of his cock to Baby's puckered furl.

Baby moans as he feels himself being split open again, though Emmet is much gentler this time, his lips soothing the ache with more kisses, fingers uncurling to give Baby's head a tender stroke.

This is where he belongs. Not in some room filled with tongue depressors and latex gloves, the merciless grip of propriety choking the life out of him. Not there but _here,_ with his tongue inside Baby's mouth, and his cock in his ass, Baby's hands tangled in the sleeves of his lab coat, trying to pull him closer than their atoms will allow. And Emmet would let it happen a thousand times over if it makes them both feel like this, unable to breathe without each other, unable to speak but to moan, bodies gripped so tightly he thinks they might break.

Each thrust seems to send the table to the breaking point as well, its legs rattling, wheels screeching in protest, though thankfully Emmet had had the foresight to lock them in place first. 

_It doesn't matter._ He's been at this for so long now, he doubts he'll be able to hold on another minute, two tops. Not if his aching balls have anything to say about it.

He starts to pound his hips faster, bracing one hand on the table for leverage and gripping Baby's cock with the other. 

He's hot, throbbing, ready to burst even without Emmet's expert handiwork. But it doesn't stop Emmet from giving it his all: tugging Baby's foreskin, twisting his wrist on the upstroke, swirling his thumb over the head as if it were his tongue. In a matter of seconds, Baby is moaning loudly, legs squeezing Emmet's waist, back curved in a glorious arch. 

And then, Emmet strikes his prostate, and Baby comes so hard he almost tears his lab coat in two. It only takes a handful of thrusts after that for Emmet to reach his own climax, groaning into Baby's mouth as his cock pulses out every last, pent-up dropful.

He kisses them both through the aftershocks, until their muscles stop twitching, and his cock softens enough to slip from Baby's hole. Then and only then does he finally pull back, his lips numb and glasses coated with a fine mist of condensation. 

There, on the opposite side of the fog, Baby waits for him with a smile, eyes as bright and beautiful as always. "Whatever happened to you wantin' to see my face when I came?" He asks.

"Sorry," Emmet grins back. "Your lips were too good to pass up." He pauses then, a soft blush creeping into his cheeks. "Did _—_ Did you like it? I know I got a little carried away back there." _OK, a_ lot _carried away._ "I hope it wasn't too much."

"Are you kiddin'?" Baby chuckles. "That was amazin'! You played it up so good you coulda won an Oscar."

"Guess I've had a lot of practice thinking about it. Of course, it helps having access to the station's soundproof medbay." Leaning in, he places a kiss to Baby's forehead. "We should probably get cleaned up, though. I bribed Deedee with extra coffee rations, but I don't think she's going to keep watch forever."

"Yeah, sure," Baby says, swirling two fingers in the pool of come on his stomach before sticking them in his mouth. And if Emmet hadn't just emptied every last ounce of himself, he's convinced his cock would be standing at attention in a heartbeat.

"Why don't I get you some paper towels instead," he laughs, holding his pants up with his clean hand as he hobbles over to the biohazard bin to dispose of his condom.

"Hey, Emmet?" Baby's voice echoes at his back.

"Yeah?"

"You think we can do one of mine next time? Like 'Gym Coach and Captain of the Football Team?' Or 'Superhero vs. Evil Villain?' I got a cape and everythin'."

Emmet turns and flashes him a smile. "Sure, sounds like fun. Just don't ask me to roleplay 'Sexy Student and Chemistry Teacher.' It's kind of off-putting. I _am_ a professional, after all." 

And he strips off his gloves and tosses them into the bin.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this utter filth, please leave a comment or come chat with me on [tumblr.](http://ladydorian.tumblr.com)


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